Charge the Contempt to My Credit Card Please
by Miss Whiskers
Summary: It had started as a joke, of course that was how all great ideas started, after all. It was odd, though, that the events that would shake up the Wizarding World was a plan put together by a nerd, a little sister, a chess master, a ditzy girl...


**Charge the Contempt to My Credit Card Please**

A/N: This was a blurb I imagined while flying high on cough medicine with a fever. This is just a one-shot, but, depending on how many people can stomach reading this all the way through without spontaneously combusting, I may or may not make a sequel (explanation, apology for the insanity, whichever)! So put on your seatbelt and enjoy the story.

**Disclaimer - Ginny cackled quietly as she snuck into Hermione's office. This room was strictly out-of-bounds, but since when had that stopped a Weasley? She crept towards a shiny and impressive looking machine in the corner of the room. She looked at the tag, which said 'Identification Alteration'. Shrugging at the lack of explanation, she pulled the lever and quietly crept away once more.**

**All over the world, personalities shifted and people suddenly found themselves in completely different bodies.**

**So, Harry Potter and Co. _might_ not be mine. Or are they?**

_**&(o)&**_

_It had started as a joke, of course; that was how all great ideas started, after all. It was odd, though, that the events that would shake up the Wizarding World was a plan put together by a nerd, a little sister, a chess master, a ditzy girl, a disillusioned hero, a rich snob, a very much disliked Potions Master, a shy herbalogist, and an unwittingly helpful Muggle._

Fifty men and women of assorted age and social standing stood around the edge of a stadium-style room, their backs straight and their gazes unforgiving. Their unexpectedly bleak purple robes merged with the shadows in the torch lit room, which had no windows or simple light bulbs to speak of. The room itself was quite obviously aged in appearance with a style hinting at the European Dark Ages.

In fact, had Frances Duprest, Wizarding Constructionist and Stylist Extraordinaire!, been there, he could have told you the construction style, exact date of when it was built, and what exactly the 'ignorant British' sorcerers were thinking when they planned it, all with a suave but noticeably arrogant twirl of his mustache that made girls around the world swoon and guys around the world gag.

But Frances Duprest was besides the point, and was currently gibbering at unseen terrors at St. Mungo's after twirling his mustache one too many times.

In the middle of the frigid, stonework room was a chair, one that had a singularly stern and ominous appearance. Most would not expect such a chair to be threatening, what with its simple design and rather inconspicuous color, but it had an air of foreboding around it, twisting and cold and unapproachable to even the most daring.

Of course, as the fifty stern and unforgiving magical folk encircling the room could testify to, the adjective 'daring' certainly did not include 'slightly insane' or 'removed from reality' in its definition. Most would wrap up that description of 'daring' with a picture of the Gryffindor seal, or perhaps a steaming blob in front of a glaring Snape in honor of that poor victim. The image least thought to capture the essence of boldness was that of a dirty blonde, loony and unconcerned eighteen-year-old girl with luminescent and wide eyes.

"Luna!" A nineteen-year-old girl hissed, who, in contrast, had long wavy brown hair, was certainly completely focused on the situation at hand, and had narrowed eyes trying to burn the flesh off of said blonde girl. "Now is not the time to be playing around!"

Luna Lovegood disregarded Hermione's harsh advice, and, giggling once more, danced forward to poke the chair, weaving her hand around the glowing and slightly annoyed chains that seemed almost eager to capture her hand and zap her with a powerful Stunning spell it had been charged with for unruly criminals. Her careless activity drew the gaze of all the surrounding wizards and witches, gaining disapproving scowls from adults and frizzy-haired teenagers alike.

Criminals? One might think that there would never be a situation in which these two embodiments of logic and spritely spirit would work together, especially as conspirators against the law, and that would be the case except for four other people, well, beings, currently hovering nervously around the chair as well.

The first was a petite spitfire, who went by the name of Ginevra Weasley, otherwise called "Your (Merciful) Highness" when she was after you with flames boiling in her eyes. Her get-up was not expected in the extreme Wizarding surroundings, especially for a pureblood that was supposed to uphold the customs and culture of the totalitarian government. Her flaming red hair, once long and abundant, had been cropped short in a style meant for function over form. She was wearing thin, stylish glasses that, had the Ministry bothered to check, would have shown them detailed and complete floor plans of the Ministry of Magic, not to mention holographic information squares on each and every employee and convicted criminal held in Azkaban or Ministry holding cells.

Rather than being clothed in conservative, while somewhat flamboyant, robes normal of European magical folk, she was wearing a thick, heavily-pocketed set of trousers, and a shirt that looked suspiciously like that of one who worked in a bakery, especially if the embroidery of 'Welcome to Donut World! My name is Shirley!' was any indication. To finish off her helter-skelter look was a pair of army boots and a prosthetic left hand.

Not a look one expected for an eighteen-year-old witch, especially not for the only Weasley girl to be born in the last fifty or so years.

Standing next to her with a decidedly unconcerned sneer on his features was none other than Draco Malfoy, also looking completely different from his younger, school-age years. Gone was the perfectly slicked back pale blonde hair and impeccable look of fashion. No longer did his demeanor scream, 'My rich has nothing to do with filthy!' but rather demanded, 'Out of the way, useless masses! You interrupted an important duel to the death!'

Once upon a time, had anyone remarked on how his fang earring was remarkably like the eldest Weasley child's, the blonde pureblood would have gasped at the insult and threatened the unfortunate speaker with 'When my father hears about this,' but now Malfoy just took the comment in stride, and if one knew him well, they could see a faint spark of pride at the comparison. Also new to his appearance was a long shiny scar from right eye to mouth; had anyone remarked upon _that _feature, they would soon find themselves six feet under. Rather than wear anything similar to the redhead witch, he was decked in a luridly colored Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, which had earlier gotten him many guffaws from his companions and joking comments about his, ahem, preferences.

Luna Lovegood, as previously mentioned, stood among the group, now done irritating the chair and deciding instead to give the evil eye to any Ministry official who dared to look her in the face.

Seeing as how the girl who once dressed in bright robes, a Butterbeer cap necklace, and stowed her wand behind her ear now had a decidedly stern and commanding wardrobe on, this was more effective than one would have thought.

Often accused of stealing her robes from McGonagall's personal designer, the blonde girl took her role seriously as supposed rigid rule-follower. Wearing plain black horn-rimmed spectacles, which, oddly enough, had the same effects for Diagon Alley as Ginny's did for the Ministry, and her lips pursed in a thin line, she already had a couple junior undersecretaries cowed.

Though, as most of them belonged to the Regulation of Puffskeins Office, many differentiating opinions about the effectiveness of Luna's stern look could be made.

Of course, once people paid close attention, they could see the quirks in Luna's appearance that made her who she was. Few could see the faded Mickie Mouse tattoo on the back of her neck, which doubled as a communication link to the Norwegian government, or had enough Muggle background to identify the odd-looking pen in her pocket as a memory eraser favored by the American Men in Black.

And no one save her five companions knew about the cyanide pill in her left boot heel, because all six carried them in case they were ever caught by more dangerous of an enemy than the backwards Ministry of Magic.

Hermione Granger was the one who looked the most similar to her school-year days. Her bushy hair still misbehaving as ever, and wearing plain black robes and her old Gryffindor scarf, everyone instantly thought that her lack of changed appearance, in comparison with her five companions, meant a lack of changed behavior.

Oh, how wrong they were.

The bossy, logical, bookworm of a girl was still there, kind of, but it had stepped aside to allow room for her decidedly sneaky side. Underneath the young woman's shapeless robes was a skin-tight gymnastics' suit, as she had became quite talented at sneaking around and stealing into building under tight security, and she was practically covered in gun holsters and belts, all of which were loaded to the extreme and dangerous, but overlooked by the overconfident 'Britain's Finest'.

Of course, perhaps the Aurors' mistake could be forgiven, as none suspected Hermione to be capable of much of anything, completely destroyed as her optic nerves were. She had allowed most to believe she was utterly unable to see, though a precious few knew that she could see waves of magic around her, making the world a bright, Technicolor place, and that several distinctly illegal potions had sharpened her senses to an inhuman finish.

Harry Potter was the last, well, _human_ of the group, though many stuffy extremist groups denied this claim. About 8 or 9 months ago he had inadvertently developed a group of fans, all of them rather outgoing teenage (relatively speaking) girls. Of all species. It had come to a head a couple weeks later, when one member of the group, named Melinda to her everlasting disgust, had decided that Harry wanted to be a vampire and had bitten him on the neck.

Harry, of course, having no inclination to be a vampire, retaliated rather violently. The overconfident Melinda had found herself battered with numerable curses and nursing a broken femur long before she had tasted anything but a drop of his blood. She had also been forced to purchase a specially designed pair of dentures since her natural teeth had been forcefully removed in her first and last flying experience.

No one really knew what Harry was anymore, since he wasn't completely a vampire, but wasn't really human anymore. Malfoy had grumbled half-seriously about how he really _was_ a half-blood now, while Ginny had mischievously suggested that Harry was now a humpire.

Needless to say, neither interpretation had lasted too long.

Apart from having slightly pale skin and being crabby if in sunlight too long, the bite had given him no adverse effects, and was all in all only one of the many changes that had happened to him in the last 2 years. Wearing a shirt that didn't endear him to the already angry Ministry, with a hearty and bold-fonted 'If Stupidity was a Crime, the whole Ministry Would Have to Relocate and Wear Orange', Harry was at this moment pretending to be restricted to a Muggle wheelchair, having tightly wrapped his Invisibility Cloak around one of his legs from the knee down. His black hair was long and scraggy, and his eyes had darkened to a near black with everything he had seen through Voldemort's eyes and his own, and while he acted as if he wouldn't be much fight in a battle so as to offset the Ministry, he knew that he would easily kill everyone in this room to make sure nothing happened to his five companions.

The last of the six was definitely the most eye-catching. Tongue lolling unconcernedly, with ears and antlers bopping in time to some unheard music, was something that could only be called a creature, or, as was more common, an 'Eww! What is that?!?'. With eyes narrowed and swimming with tears in bright sunlight, some overly imaginative people could liken it to a dog with two oddly-shaped growths on its head, and others merely called it a genetically-boogeymanned deer. Whenever this kind of comment came along, the creature made a wuffling sound, though if in amusement or annoyance no one could tell without asking.

This creature was, however, some type of mad creation that came about when Hermione's theory of reincarnation and Harry's documentation of successful Necromancy came to a head. For at least a couple weeks all other plans had been put on hold as the two fought it out for the theory deemed 'correct'. In the end, Malfoy had told them to stop displaying their repressed sexual tension and just have a food fight over it.

While not the most logical conclusion, it had worked. Until Harry and Hermione had come out tied, both all but swallowed in oozing heaps of unidentifiable food.

So, the two had made a cocktail of their different researches. Determined to bring Sirius Black back to life, they had compiled endless notes and eventually mangled out a spell that should have done the trick, getting its power from Harry's memories of Sirius.

That plan didn't work so well, as Harry's memories included the several months of thinking Sirius a murderer, combined with the Animagus's spot as Harry's father figure. Rather than having a human reincarnated, they had ended up with a half-Grim, half-stag, "monstrosity" as Hermione had complained unhappily, that had echoes of both James Potter and Sirius in it.

The 'Grimly Stag', after refusing to be called 'Jamius', 'Stagly Grim', or 'economy-size idiotic fools' (contributed by a heavily disapproving Snape) had strangely decided on the title IT for reasons unknown.

IT was currently pawing the ground as if wanting to charge at the distinctive squatty shape of Hogwarts's first and only High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge.

Only after the toady had hidden behind Minister Fudge did the meeting really begin.

"We are here today," the Minister began pompously, "in office of the Wizengamot's judicial power, to decide upon the punishment of these four, no, five, no---"

"Six, O Great Minister," Ginny said, in so innocent a tone of voice that the aristocratic purple robe-donned bureaucrats had to actually listen to pick up the insult, "I'm aware that math is not a subject in Wizarding Schools, but honestly, you have ten fingers, so what's the problem?"

Fudge, after thinking about what Ginny had said, eventually turned to his scribe who pointed out that she had just insulted him.

"Now see here, little missy, I AM the Minister of Magic, and you will give me the proper respect!"

"Your Ministership," one sleazy wizard said from the opposite side of the room, "perhaps the proceedings will run smoother if you just address the humans now, and," here he sneered heavily at Harry, "deal with the _creatures_ later."

"Yes, yes, excellent idea, Bolster---" But, alas, the Minister was cut off again.

"Aha!" Harry exclaimed facetiously. "I knew it! I knew someone actually human couldn't really like Cockroach Clusters! Honestly, Draco, no need to hide the fact that you're a Martian or anything, we won't judge you..."

"Potter!" Draco yelled, but with a smirk that took away any voiced annoyance.

"Enough!" The Minister barked, now turning in unfortunate turn of red. "You pathetic lot of traitors are here because----"

"Now, now, Minister," Hermione said calmly, looking to the right of Fudge to perfect her act. "You don't want to get your blood pressure up or anything. Even I can see that you face is about to explode."

IT snuffled in agreement before deciding to restart Luna's game of Annoy The Sentient Chair.

Draco looked at his watch, a scowl on his face. "If we could hurry this up, please, I have a game of Quodpot I have to get to..."

The whole stadium-like room froze in shock at the mention of America's mangled version of Quidditch before realizing that he was joking.

"Twit," Ginny grumbled, putting her hand on her heart as if she had suffered a major heart tremor, and many of the younger people of the Wizengamot looked like they agreed.

"THE CHARGES BROUGHT BEFORE YOU ARE," Fudge yelled in irritation, having made his Assistant conjure him a megaphone, "TRAITORY..."

"'Mione," Harry whispered loudly, atracting the attention of half of the room's occupants. Oddly, it was the half farthest from Fudge and therefore not deafened by the blasting voice. "What's this 'traitory'? I wasn't aware we had done anything like that!"

"The pompous little git of a man meant 'treachery', Harry," Hermione answered, not bothering to whisper at all. "He apparently didn't have time for his secretary to write everything he was going to say."

"Ah," Harry said in mock-realization, and they both turned back to the Minister, who was still going strong.

"...DISRUPTION OF THE PEACE, POSSIBLE EXPOSURE OF THE WIZARDING CIVILIZATION, ASSAULT ON AT LEAST 531 MEMBERS OF THE MINISTRY, MOCKING THE MINISTER OF MAGIC--"

"That's illegal?" Harry interrupted, asking for clarification.

"Yes," the Minister and his various lackeys yelled back.

"Oops," Ginny said uncaringly.

"Alright then, you better sign me up for a hundred of those, then," Harry responded congenially, grinning at Ginny's addition. "Any one else up for confession?"

"Hundred for me, too, please," Luna and Ginny both said.

"Probably a good hundred for me, as well," Hermione said politely. They all turned to Draco and waited.

He ignored everyone's impatient look and began counting on his fingers, slowly, obviously making a mockery of the situation. Finally he seemed to give up. "No idea," Draco said bluntly. "Hermione, can you total it up for me, please?"

"Will do," she acquiesced, and pulled a giant calculator out of her pocket. A couple seconds passed as she did a couple heavy-looking equations before looking up in satisfaction. "5, 391 times."

"Ha! Idiot oaf of a bureaucrat," Draco muttered.

"5,392 times."

"Make sure the record states that accordingly," Fudge said pompously, not realizing he was being played with, before turning back around and grinning maliciously at the six before him.

"NOW, BACK TO THE LIST OF OFFENSES. AH, HERE WE ARE...MOCKING THE MINISTER OF MAGIC, EVADING ARREST, USE OF CONTERFEIT MONEY, USE OF A DEADLY WEAPON, 54 MURDERS IN THE FIRST DEGREE, AND VIGILANTISM. HOW DO YOU PLEAD?"

"Guilty," Ginny answered immediately, unabashed at the long list of crimes.

"Guilty," Draco responded pompously, as if such a condition were below him.

"Can you repeat the question?" Luna asked, now focusing her glance on Fudge rather than the peeling stickers on her notebook that she carried everywhere.

"You respond 'Guilty'," Hermione whispered.

"Guilty," Luna said brightly, having not been paying attention to the proceedings.

"Guilty," Hermione said without a trace of doubt.

"Alright, now on to the non-human charges. Harry James Potter, you are hereby accused," here Fudge rolled the words around his mouth in obvious pleasure of pinning something concrete on the teen who had shown him up so many times, "of all of the others, with the added counts of fraternizing with humans."

"Not guilty."

Fudge blinked in shock, then face turned colors in anger. "How DARE you sit there and say not guilty, making a mockery of this court!"

"Fine then," Harry said amiably, and rolled his wheelchair over to another section of the floor. "Not guilty, part two." He watched in amusement as Fudge began to swell like a hot air balloon. "Not to mention, Fudgey ol' buddy, ol' pal, this court was a mockery to begin with."

Fudge's face screwed up and he grabbed his megaphone once more.

"He's obviously compensating for something," Ginny muttered loudly, once more attracting the attention of the room. "And since his wife left him a while ago, we can all pretty easily guess what."

"GINEVRA WEASLEY, I HOLD YOU IN CONTEMPT OF THIS COURT!" Fudge spluttered angrily. "HOW DARE YOU, YOU LITTLE (censored)!"

Ginny's eyes lit up in anger and her five companions began slowly backing away. "Ooh, he did it now..." Draco said grinning.

"I HOLD THIS COURT IN CONTEMPT OF ME, YOU FAT LITTLE CARICATURE OF A MAN! I'VE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH YOU, AND YOUR LITTLE BOWLER HAT AS WELL!" She inserted a cackle here, but that only made since to Harry and Hermione. "YOU MAKE IDIOTIC DECISIONS _ALL THE BLOODY TIME_, AND NOW YOU VERBALLY INSULT A NEAR MINOR IN COURT! IT IS YOU, NOT ANY OF US, WHO HAS MADE A MOCKERY OF THIS TRIAL!"

Ginny seemed to grow taller during this rant, and Fudge was visibly shrinking back from her, until Hermione interrupted and cleared her throat. "103 and counting, on Ginny's record."

Dumbledore, Head of the Wizengamot, chose this time to use his authority. "Minister Fudge, that was out of line. Perhaps if the both of you are done, we can continue onward with this trial, which, believe it or not, is real, and has rules?"

Fudge nodded, putting his bowler hat back on and pushing his badge into greater prominence. "I believe that Harry James Potter was explaining his reason for pleading 'not guilty' to the charges."

"I'm not pleading 'not guilty' to all of the charges," Harry explained slowly and patronizingly. "Only to the counterfeit money one. Due to the fact that you took all the money in the Potter vault, which suspiciously ended up in yours, imagine that, I was forced to use uncertified money. Extenuating circumstances, you see."

Dumbledore clapped his hands together before Fudge could say anything. "Excellent. Now that the charges are squared away, perhaps the six can tell us the reasons for these crimes?"

All six shared a glance, then turned back to Dumbledore. "We're not sayin' nothin'!" Luna said with an obvious American accent.

"Anything!" Hermione bit out painfully, as if the bad grammar had physically hit her.

"I DEMAND THAT YOU ANSWER!" Fudge screamed, having lost all dignity and control. IT responded by walking over to Fudge's stand and lifting its leg.

"We all plead the fifth," Hermione said simplistically. "You see, none of us have any desire to speak with any of you. So we'll be leaving now."

With that the five humanoids pulled out contraptions, IT having pressed a button on its collar, that shot out strings that wrapped around a bar on the ceiling. All six were swiftly lifted into the air, Harry threw a gizmo that melted the stone ceiling, and they vaulted through the resulting hole.

It was only after they had left that Albus noticed the CD player left behind in Harry's abandoned wheelchair that was quietly playing the theme to Batman.

With a note that clearly read, "See ya later suckers! And remember, a vote for Fudge is a vote for stupidity!"

Underneath this note, which was written in Ginny's handwriting, was Hermione's neat script saying, "105, and counting."

Dumbledore sank his head into his crossed arms, torn between laughing hysterically and sobbing uncontrollably. They had gotten away again.

And they still had blackmail on Dumbledore's lemon drop supplier.

d&&b

Harry was the first to Apparate back to their flat, leaning down to take off the Invisibility Cloak and trying to suppress the laughter threatening to explode out his ears. He turned as he heard the crack of Apparation behind him and lost control of his chuckles at the annoyed look on Hermione's face. Losing balance and falling to the ground while roaring with laughter, he didn't even hear Ginny, Luna, Draco, and IT appear.

"He's lost it," a drawling voice commented. "Those vampiric tendencies have turned his mind to mush."

Harry opened his eyes and glared at the speaker. "What vampiric tendencies? I'm not the malcontent albino here!"

"I'll have you know," Draco retorted with a sniff, "that it took generations of carefully selected marriages to achieve this aristocratic look."

"Ah, inbreeding," Hermione nodded her head in agreement. "A perfectly logical explanation that helps us commoners understand why your hair and skin are practically the same color, why you're genetically predisposed to whining, and why you only chat up snotty-looking blonds. I had wondered."

**A/N: Read and Review, please! I need to know if it's worth it to keep writing on this!**


End file.
